


A High School Cliché.

by halelujah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Basket Case!Stiles, Breakfast Club AU, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, jock!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halelujah/pseuds/halelujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you the one that played a porno in the Principal’s office?” A gruff voice asks. </p><p>“Depends if you’re the one that threw a dumbbell through a window.” He drawls, not bothered in moving from his comfy spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A High School Cliché.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerly_yours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_yours/gifts).



> Okay, so Leigh asked for this to be written and since I can't say no to her, here you go. 
> 
> [BASED ON THIS.](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com/post/96218293869/i-have-a-mighty-need-for-a-sterek-breakfast-club)
> 
>  
> 
> [Original Posting.](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com/post/96466976654/oh-my-word-i-need-that-first-breakfast-club-au-it-is)

Stiles is sprawled out across the table, bag comfortably tucked under his head, an arm tossed across his eyes and the other draped over his stomach. 

He can hear movement from the table in front of him, like someone shifting around before huffing out irritably. He doesn’t move to acknowledge them, just settles down for a long undisturbed nap. Harris said he’d be watching them like a hawk, but the man didn’t want to be here any more than they did. For all Stiles knew, he probably locked the door, threw the key and went out for the day. He would if they had swapped positions. 

“Are you the one that played a porno in the Principal’s office?” A gruff voice asks. 

Smiling at the reminder, Stiles wishes he had brought a camera. The absolute look of embarrassment playing on the Principal’s face had been priceless when he was found. It had sent him into a loud belly aching cackle, tears streaming down his face as he was dragged out of the room by him and another teacher. He hadn’t stopped laughing after that, not even when his father was called, predictably saying “he’d punish him personally at home.”

Stiles tried not to roll his eyes at that. He’s honestly surprised the Sheriff knew _where_ home was. 

“Depends if you’re the one that threw a dumbbell through a window.” He drawls, not bothered in moving from his comfy spot.

There’s a tense moment that follows him, one that makes the smile on his face grow. What can he say? People that are uneasy around him are his favourite kind of people. 

“Maybe I threw the dumbbell, because all I could hear over the speakers was some guy crying out for more.” Is what’s said next. 

“Dale Cooper is not _some guy_. He’s a gift to the gay porn industry. I just happened to show people the light.” Stiles snorts, offended. He changes gears then, says, “Besides, I know your little steroid induced hissy fit happened _before_ DC came over his chest, so like the majority of my fellow man, you have no consideration for waiting until your partner’s done before losing your cookies.”

“ _I do not use steroids_!”

At that, Stiles removes his arm and lifts his head up, staring at the guy facing away from him, lettermen jacket stretched over broad shoulders. His arms are crossed and Jesus Christ, he’s pouting. 

“From all of that, the steroid comment is what’s got you pouting, are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t use steroids.” He repeats, turning around to glare at him. “No matter what the rumours say.”

Swallowing at the multicolour hued eyes narrowed in his direction, Stiles nods, goes for nonchalant as he lays back down, though this time he stares absently up at the ceiling. “Whatever keeps your boat afloat, Hale.”

From the corner of his eye, McPouty stiffens. “How do you know my name?”

“ _Everyone_ knows your name, jeez. Pretty sure they announced it in the sky when you were born.” He feels his eye roll all the way down to his toes. “The great Talia and David Hale! The lifeblood in little ol’ Beacon Hills, saving kitties from trees with the force of their eyebrows alone, have given birth to baby Derek, who will take on the Lacrosse Captaincy as foretold by his ancestors!”

“Shut up.” Derek grits out. “You don’t know nothing about me.”

Glancing over, he shrugs in agreement. “What I do know is you grew up with a silver fucking spoon in your mouth and an air of judgment around you.”

He moves so quickly that Stiles doesn’t even have the chance to yelp, ends up being pinned to the table by Derek’s body, arms and legs caging him in. Their noses are touching and for some reason, they’re both panting, lips almost touching. “For someone claiming I judge people, you’re sure spouting out some awful shit. So, you want me to act like I’m better than you, fine. I _am_ better than you. But don’t think you’re not well known in this town either. You’re the Sheriff’s son who lost it when his mother died, a workaholic for a father that would rather spend his time, sitting in a dusty office than be home with you. At least my parents want to be around me and not take drastic measures to stay away.”

Anger flashes hotly in his chest and Stiles shoves Derek back off the table with a strength he didn’t know he had. “Fuck you.” He says shakily. 

“I don’t think so. Like you said before, I might lose my cookies before you do.” He grins sharply. 

Derek steps back and takes a seat again, completely ignoring his presence like he had minutes beforehand. Swallowing heavily, Stiles grabs his bag from under him and jumps off the table, walks briskly to the back of the library. 

“Where are you going? We aren’t allowed to move from here.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Hale.” He tosses over his shoulder as he hits the row of books. “I don’t obey every order given to me.”

~

He’s not sure how long it is before he hears footfalls coming in his direction two sections down from him. 

Sighing, Stiles closes the book he’d been reading and tucks it back into his bag. Pulling up his knees and resting his chin on them, he smiles gently at the memory of him and his mother getting lost in the magical world of Narnia, the both of them begging his father for one more chapter before bed, pouting when the standard, “You said that _two hours_ ago” reply was given by a grinning Sheriff. 

It had been good back then, awesome in fact. Now. Well, nowadays he barely sees his father. Spends more time at the cemetery, sitting by his mother and just talking about anything and everything, than choosing to stay at home in an empty house. 

He startles when someone sits beside of him, surprised to see that it’s Derek and not Harris on a bloody rampage. When their gazes meet, Stiles is the first to look away, arms wrapping around his legs and hugging them closely to himself. 

“You’re right.” Derek tells him after awhile, back leaning against the wall, a line of heat by his side. “About me following orders. I’m always — trying to please someone. My family. Coach. Someone’s always there expecting the very best from me.”

“Maybe you were right about me.” Stiles smiles helplessly at him, picks at the denim frays over his knees. “Maybe my parents don’t want to be around me.”

“I’m sorry.” A broken look passes over Derek’s face. “I shouldn’t have said that, that was horrible of me.”

He shrugs, their shoulders brushing at the movement. “You don’t need to apologise. You weren’t the only one to say horrible shit, in fact I started it. I’m just glad you didn’t punch me in the face.”

“I think getting punched in the face would have hurt a lot less to what we said to each other.” Derek murmurs, nudging him lightly. 

“Yeah.” He says, silently debating if he should keep talking or not. His fingers tapped a random beat against his shin, his mind made up. “I wasn’t always — wasn’t always like this.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Stiles.” 

Letting out a humourless laugh, he shakes his head. “That’s the thing, I’m sick of someone else explaining away my behaviour. Sure it might be because I take Adderall, maybe it’s linked to my mother dying and having an absent father at such a young age, but no one wants to _hear me_. It’s like they talk about me while I stand there screaming to be heard.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be ignored,” Derek tells him honestly, head tilted back against the wall with eyes closed. “I’m constantly surrounded by people telling me to do this, to do that. To win because it’s expected of me. I don’t think I’ve ever truly been alone for a minute, someone’s voice is always in my head.”

They lapse into silence, the two of them just breathing together, like they just hadn’t bared their souls to one another. It’s only then that Stiles realises how close they’re sitting next to one another, he’s pretty much cuddled against Derek’s side. It sends a nervous thrill through his entire body, a buzz he’s never experienced before. 

Gaze darting over at Derek, Stiles asks, “What are the voices saying now?”

A smile tugs at Derek’s mouth, eyes crinkling when he glances back. It’s a really beautiful smile, one that transforms his entire face, his entire persona. “Surprisingly silent. Guess you have a good effect on me.”

His face heats up warmly. “Well, you’re listening to me, so I guess you’ve got an effect on me too.”

“I’m glad. No one should go unnoticed.”

Smiling softly, he reaches out and traces the ‘BH’ patch on Derek’s arm, the medium sized ‘C’ sitting underneath it. “No one should expect you to be invincible.”

Eyebrows quirked, he nods. “Looks like we’re both screaming to be heard.”

“I thought I told you two not to move from the tables!” Harris snaps, popping out from behind a row of books. “Get your sorry asses back there now, before I extend your detention to another Saturday!”

~

“Didn’t you bring anything to eat?” Derek asks, shoving half a sandwich into his mouth. 

He juts his chin out to where he threw a banana peel he had eaten in the morning. It was now half passed one. “Just that.”

He’s sitting cross legged on the table, this time at Derek’s, one elbow resting on his thigh, palm cupping his chin. The atmosphere is different now, more at ease than when Derek first stepped into the library. Stiles isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not, but he likes it. 

What he doesn’t like though is the clear eternal struggle written across Derek’s face at that, like he’s fighting himself not to ask if he has anything at all to eat regardless of what time of day it is. 

“You want half?” He questions instead. 

There’s a BLT triangle held out an inch from his nose and he nods, smiles in thanks. 

What he doesn’t expect is Derek to pull out another two sandwiches out of his bag, two packets of chips, one apple and orange, a chocolate cupcake before a large coke bottle is placed between the fruit. 

“Did you rob a store before you came here, Jesus.” 

Derek rolls his eyes and opens a packet of chips. “A growing boy needs sustenance.” The tone of voice suggests that he’s mimicking someone. 

Eyebrows feeling like they’re touching his hairline, he gestures to the food between them. “This looks like it could feed _two_ boys.” 

“Shut up and eat the food, Stiles.”

Grinning, he does, snagging a few chips when Derek offers the packet out to him. 

Everything’s going well until after they smash all the food between then, the cupcake is the only thing that’s left. 

“I think you should give it to me.” Stiles says, eyeing it. 

“Excuse me?” Derek splutters. He clutches the mini cake to chest. “I don’t think so.”

“But you said to ‘shut up and eat the food.’ That,” he points at the cupcake, “Is food and I want it. Hand it over before I take it off you.”

Raising a challenging eyebrow, he leans back on two chair legs and unwraps the cupcake to take a bite out of it. Through a mouthful, he mumbles, “I’d like to see you try.”

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles lunges forward, miscalculates the weight shift and with Derek, topples backwards from the table. They end up sprawled across the carpeted floor, Stiles straddling Derek’s hips, chest to chest and nose buried in the curve of his neck. 

“Ow,” he complains, sitting up, hands resting on a hard, flexing stomach. His eyes widen when he realises the position they’re in, his ass fitting snugly on Derek’s lap and knees bracketing his ribs. “Are you okay?”

To his surprise, Derek laughs, hard enough to make him bounce slightly and _seriously_ , that’s not what Stiles needs while sitting on a guy’s crotch. 

“What?” He demands, glaring down at him and trying his best not to do anything stupid. “What’s funny?”

Before he can think to move, Derek shoves the rest of the cupcake into his mouth and chews, giving him a chocolately grin when Stiles yells. 

“You’re an asshole.” He pouts, folding his arms across his chest. 

Tucking his hands behind his head, Derek shrugs, mouth still working over the cupcake. “Mm, chocolate.”

“You’ve got a little something there,” Stiles says, touching his upper lip. There isn’t anything there but he just feels like being a little shit. 

Turns out, his little plan backfires because Derek doesn’t wipe his mouth with his hand, he uses the tip of his tongue to swipe across his lips in a slow, sensual drag. With that blowing up in his face, Stiles realises he’s still. _In. Derek’s. Lap._

Jumping up to his feet, he doesn’t look at Derek’s face, knows that his own is blazing. “I’m just — bathroom.”

He all but flies out of the room and down the hall, ignores Harris as he skids through the bathroom doorway, mind a whirlwind of thoughts. 

Stiles paces in front of the mirror, talking to himself as he goes left to right. Sure, everyone knew that he tended to swing both ways; his legendary crush on Lydia and the fact he used a gay porno was a testament to that. But Stiles didn’t even know if Derek liked guys and yet here he was, getting all flustered like some fair maiden in a harlequin novel. 

“If I wasn’t at least a little gay, I don’t think I’d let a guy sit on my lap like that, Stiles.” A voice says from behind him.

He’s manly enough to admit he screamed. Loudly. 

“Fuck, dude.” He pants, grabbing his chest and the sink. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Heart attacks aside, what I said is true.” Derek grins unrepentant. “And I think you’d look cute as a fair maiden.”

Stiles snorts loudly, folds his hands under his chin and bats his eyelashes. “Why, Derek, is that you making a declaration?”

Rolling his eyes, Derek holds his hand out to him. “Hurry up before Harris comes in here and drags us out. He’s pissed we both ignored him before coming in here.”

Hesitatingly, Stiles reaches out and places his palm over his, their fingers locking together lightly. He’s tugged gently out of the bathroom and despite being yelled at by a fuming Harris, - again - not once did Derek let go. 

~

“Freedom!” Stiles yells, arms wide as he steps into the school car park. 

There’s his jeep sitting across the parking lot, the body of the car over two car spots. What? It’s not like anyone was around to yell at him for it. Closer to the entrance of the school, is an idling Camaro, the famous Laura Hale sitting in the driver’s seat, aviators perched on her nose. 

“Hurry up, loser!” She yells when she sees them, head sticking out of the open window. “Ma needs to kick your ass again before the game tonight, and I wanna be there for it!”

“She has no filter, does she?” Stiles asks, grinning when Derek shakes his head, a blush high on his cheeks. 

“We think Dad dropped her when she was a kid,” he stage whispers. 

They both smile at each other, bodies close and gazes connected. Whatever moment between them is ruined though when a horn blares loudly and making them jump. 

“I better go,” Derek murmurs, lips tugging down into a frown. “She’ll pitch a fit if I don’t.”

Swallowing, Stiles nods, heart sinking down to the pit of his stomach. He knows that when Monday hits, everything will go back to the way it was, today a distant memory. He’ll think of another way to fuck with the school while Derek will ride the high of winning on the weekend. Same old, same old. 

It doesn’t stop him from saying, “Okay, I’ll see you later,” before turning around to walk away. 

“How about tonight?” Comes shyly from behind him. 

Turning around, he gapes, eyes wide. “You want _me_ to come to _your_ Lacrosse game tonight?”

Derek nods, steps over to him and shucking his jacket off once he’s standing in front of him. Before he can ask what the hell he’s doing, Derek crowds in, drapes the jacket over his shoulders, grasps his chin gently and gives him a soft, dazzling smile. 

“How’s that for a declaration?” He murmurs and slants his mouth over his.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Athlete & The Criminal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211319) by [damnfancyscotch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch)




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